“Don't be a fool, Harper. If you can help me get McGlory, it may make it easier for you.”
“But him—” Pink motioned toward Dick—“would it make it easier for him?”
Beveridge shook his head. “I don't believe the Lord a'mighty could save him.”
“Then,” said Pink, with a flash of anger, “you can go to hell for all o' me!”
Beveridge sat thinking. He looked at Dick from under his eyebrows, studying the man with shrewd eyes. With the same scrutiny, he looked at Pink. Then he drew an envelope from his pocket and consulted a list that had been jotted on the back; and followed this with a Milwaukee time-table, which he studied with eye and finger. “It's now—” he looked at his watch—“nine-twelve. We 'll make the nine-forty. Come along with me, Smiley.” Captain Fargo asked the question that Dick would not ask. “What are you going to do with the boys, Mr. Beveridge?”
“We're going to Milwaukee now, on the nine-forty.”
“To Milwaukee!”
“Yes. I'm afraid that's all I can tell you.” Dick and Pink took their hats and rose. Wilson stepped back to fall in at Pink's shoulder, leaving Smiley to his superior. Suddenly Captain Fargo, after a moment of puzzled silence, broke out with, “Wait—has anybody seen or heard of Henry?”
All looked blank.
“Where was he seen last?” asked the Special Agent.